Change

The last few months have been a whirlwind. Constant change at work, navigating the complicated maze that is my health, family stuff, and loss. So much has changed so quickly that sometimes I feel like I barely have time to catch my breath. Lately it feels like my whole damn world has been in motion. Just when I think I’ve found a new rhythm something else gets thrown into the mix. Some changes I chose and even celebrated. Some I never wanted. And some blindsided me, like a thief in the night, stealing a version of life I thought I could count on. Change sure can feel like an avalanche that you didn’t consent to. One minute you know the ground under your feet. The next minute you’re buried. I try to hold it together, to smile and keep moving, but the truth is I get rattled. It is not weak to admit that change affects the body and the mind. It is human. When life bends in directions I didn’t expect, I feel as though I always try to perform calm. I have to remind myself though, that I need anchors. I need tools that help move through it without losing myself, or falling into the chaos of negative thinking. It’s so much easier though to say that and then to actually DO it.

My nervous system craves predictability, it always has. Routines and familiar cues tell me I am in control of the situation. I’ve never done well with sudden changes of plans, sudden losses, changes in my normal routine. Sleep turns strange. Concentration scatters. Even folding a load of clothes or feeding Maple feels like too much work. Irritation bubbles up out of nowhere.

My worsening health and mobility has caused a level of chaos that I have never experienced. I’m not always in control of my own day. I never know for sure from one day to the next if my pain will be at a 5, or at a 9. Daddy used to tell me that I was a machine. I hardly sat down, and got so much done around the house. I was constantly cleaning, doing yard work, doing laundry, etc. and I loved it. I was always moving. Now I feel like I just sit in the recliner and veg. Some days I get NOTHING done, and every single thing feels like a monumental task. I had a meeting with my Supervisor today and the topic of my health came up and she asked, “how are you keeping up with everything? How can you handle all of this?” My response - “What are my other options?” I can keep living or I can give up, and I certainly don’t want to give up.

I’ve learned to speak out loud when I’m struggling. Do I overshare probably on social media? Probably. But it helps sometimes to name what’s happening. It really does help to be able to say, “This is hard. I didn’t ask for it”, or “Here’s what’s happening right now, I am struggling”, or “Here’s what I can control. Here’s what I can’t.” Saying it out loud clears the fog and grounds me. The truth is solid ground, and having the support of people keeps me connected to things I am grateful for, it keeps me focused on the good, the fact that I have so many friends and like-minded acquaintances.

Change often carries loss with it. Loss of roles I thought I’d always have. I loved rough-housing and playing with my kids when they were little. I had always imagined doing the same with my grandkids, and I can’t. I can read to them, watch their favorite shows with them, and things like that, but I grieve the fact that I can’t PLAY with them. I can’t wrestle with them, I can’t sit on the floor and play with their toys with them. Hell, some days I can’t even pick them up and hold them. I lost the chance to be the kind of Papa that I always thought I would be. But I didn't lose the chance to BE a Papa! My grandkids adore me. They don’t care that I can’t throw them up in the air and catch them, or that my knees hurt too bad to be able to do horsey rides. In fact, they understand that I have health challenges and it is making them more empathetic. My almost 5 year old grandson will come in and ask how I feel. He asks if my knee hurts. He rubs along my scars and says “my poor Papa” - it chokes me up how sweet it is that he says that. And we do play - maybe not the way I imagined, but we have stuffy wars and throw tiny squishmallows across the room at each other and they just giggle and holler. I go to the nature center and hiking trails with them in my power chair and we explore and hold hands, and my 2 year old granddaughter loves to “push” my chair.

I’ve had to navigate the loss of people I thought would be here forever - or for longer than they were. Friendships that change over time, that become something you don’t recognize anymore. And then there are actual losses that hit like a ton of brick. Friends that decide that they don’t want to be on this planet anymore and leave us, family that we lose, some to death and some because you don’t fit the mold they want you to. But every one of those connections brought us something, and I truly do believe that everyone who comes into our lives - for even a few moments, has something to leave with us.

Grief is not a side road. It is THE road. I cry when I need to. I write when words pour out. I sit in silence when I can’t do either. Lately, when I am done with work - and thank goodness I have the good fortune of working from home - I take Maple outside and I sit and watch her play, listen to the birds, the wind, and just soak in the cool Minnesota breeze on the patio I love, and it brings me so much peace. This blog has helped a lot too. I get excited to post the new guest blog each week, I get excited to sit down with my laptop and write my own.

So I guess what I’m trying to convey is that change is hard, it can be traumatic, it can be scary and it can feel unfair. But it’s easier to focus on the change that we struggle with than the changes we should embrace. I know this is true for me. Yes, my body is changing in ways I don’t want it to. But I am here and I am so lucky to have a robust community to spend time with. I have a wonderful family that I love and that love me. I may have lost friends along the way because we changed trajectories, but I have made so many new friends that bring me happiness. Will they stay “forever”? I don’t know, but I am damn sure going to enjoy them while they’re here.

The past few weeks have tested me so much. The health struggles. The shifts in family, both chosen and biological. The state of this country. Change at work. It’s been a lot. But even in the middle of it I keep noticing that I am still here. Still showing up. Still learning to breathe through the hard days and laugh on the good ones. But I still have so much to be excited about. Going to events and seeing friends that I don’t get to see but maybe once a year. Grandbaby number 5 that is in the oven, and the many milestones I get to see these sweet babies meet.

I don’t always feel strong but every time I keep going I prove to myself that I really am. You don’t have to like change to live through it with dignity. You only need a handful of steady practices and a few people that love you hard and give you reasons to laugh. I’m allowed to wobble. I’m allowed to rest. I’m allowed to grieve. And I’m allowed to rebuild. The ground will not always feel this unsteady. The body learns. The heart heals. The mind adapts. And when the next wave of change comes, and it will, I’ll remember that I’ve done it before, and I will fucking do it again and again, because this life I have been blessed with is worth showing up for.